


Knocking Is Polite

by wouldyouknowmore



Series: Knocking Is Polite [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: 5 Times, Absurd Amounts of Flirting, Burn of a Moderate Speed, Canon Universe, First Time, Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), I'm so sorry Fandral, Incest, Like 45 mph Burn, M/M, Pre-Thor (2011), Unapologetic Overuse of Parentheses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-13 11:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14111754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldyouknowmore/pseuds/wouldyouknowmore
Summary: aka Five Times Thor Interrupted Loki in the Bath, and One Time Loki Repaid the Favor





	1. Prologue

Thor isn’t sure that he’d reacted in perhaps the _best_ way, but really, he’d only laughed a very little bit. He certainly could have done or said worse, and it’s not as though he’s planning to ever bring it up again. And for Norns’ sake, he thinks, everyone does it! There was no need to be so affronted. 

Judging by the fact that Loki’s belongings are still being carted down the corridor and the steps of their shared tower (the tower that Loki himself had chosen and argued for and wheedled their mother over until they were allowed to occupy it several centuries ago, once the young princes felt they had quite outgrown their nursery), it would appear these arguments have not been sufficient to change his brother’s mind. 

“But Thor, it’s not as though you’ll never see him again,” Frigga says in exasperation, directing a chest of Loki’s books through the narrow doorway. “And besides, wouldn’t you like more privacy? You’ll have this whole tower to yourself—careful of your fingers, Nyr!—and you’ll still see your brother every day for lessons and training and meals.”

“Aye, Mother, but I still think he’s overreacting.” 

A prince of Asgard does _not_ pout, and certainly who should have outgrown that behavior eons ago, but if Thor’s bottom lip juts out at this a bit, his mother doesn’t mention it. 

“As neither of you can be convinced to tell me what happened, I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” she says with a pointed look, but no look of hers could ever persuade him to broach this particular subject with either of his parents. He stands fast and averts his gaze. 

“Very well, keep your secrets. But the two of you will weather this storm like all the rest, so don’t look so bereft. Now, I believe this is the last of it, so give your brother some space, and I’ll see you for dinner.”

Frigga needs to rise up on her toes to reach his cheek for a kiss, which Thor receives more than willingly, and then she’s gone in a swish of silks, leaving him alone in what is now his tower, and his alone. He _is_ a bit pleased at the prospect, if he’s honest, but Loki has only been absent for a day and a half, and even though he’s never made much noise in the first place, their rooms are much too quiet already.

He knows that, while his brother has always taken enthusiastic delight in making Thor the butt of any joke (or anyone else for that matter), Loki doesn’t find it the least bit amusing to be laughed at (not that this has ever stopped Thor before). But the mild teasing Thor had dispensed yesterday had accomplished what a more than half a millennium of good-natured bickering and japes had never done, and Loki had immediately stomped down the stairs (after dressing of course) and hasn’t been seen since. The porters and Frigga had arrived this afternoon to collect his things, and now Loki has reportedly established himself in the eastern wing. There are several empty rooms in their tower, but evidently those weren’t far enough away from Thor.

It’s clear that this particular offense has far exceeded any of Thor’s previous missteps, but he cannot, for the life of him, think why. All he’d said was, _Need a hand, brother?_ and chuckled in what he didn’t think was a terribly objectionable manner, but it had been enough for Loki’s pale face to flush angrier and redder than he’d ever seen it. Before Thor could even duck out of their shared bathing chamber, his brother was splashing out of the bath, flinging water everywhere. The dagger thudding into the door just inches from Thor’s face, and then the slam of the other door into his brother’s rooms were the final words in the matter.

_Where in the Nine does Loki keep all these knives?_ Thor had wondered at the time, but he’s sure that question could be more easily answered than why his one little comment had caused such a strong reaction. 

It’s not as though Thor himself has never been caught in a similarly compromising position, after all. Why, just last month, he’d forgotten to lock the door of his bedroom before—before taking some private time, and he hadn’t been so terribly offended when Loki had walked in on _him_. Then again, Loki hadn’t laughed, not even a bit, though his jaw had dropped in surprise. But then he’d recovered, made an over-dramatic retching noise, and shouted, _Bar your door next time, you hedonist!_ on his way back out.

It’s likely that Thor has neglected to see some detail that would explain his brother’s anger, but then Loki’s always been a bit odd. Besides, his mother is usually right, and he thinks that he’ll take special delight in refusing to let Loki move his things back into what Thor is already thinking of his trophy room once this little spat is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Our boys are all grown up and shoved back together, and Thor learns quite a bit about quite a lot. 
> 
> You can find me on the tumblrs over [here](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 1

In the end, it takes roughly two hundred years, a fateful, mistimed swing of his hammer, and a ruined tower to put Thor back into his brother’s immediate vicinity, despite Frigga’s assurances that they’d be laughing about whatever it was that had happened between them within a fortnight. 

They had seen each other for lessons and training and meals of course, but the distance between them wasn’t only physical, and it seemed that whatever he’d done wrong all those years ago (he couldn’t even remember it clearly now—something about Loki in the bath?) had been enough to sharply alter their courses away from one another.

And how absurd that is, Thor thinks to himself as he nods along with Loki’s explanation of pocket dimensions, not perhaps understanding the more technical details of it, but enthused all the same. How absurd that they’ve spent so long so far apart, when his brother is truly _brilliant_. 

“That’s brilliant, brother, it truly is,” he says, the very picture of earnestness. 

“Yes, I’m aware,” Loki says with a dismissive wave of his hand, “and now that you know where I keep the knives, you also know where you yourself will be banished the next time you barge into my rooms uninvited.”

Thor beams. “Your skill has grown so much greater than I knew! It must be a difficult feat indeed to convey a living being across dimensions so.”

He may be laying it on a bit thick, but Loki actually looks pleased by the compliment for a moment before giving him a withering glare. Besides, Thor _is_ very much impressed by his brother’s progress in his studies and doesn’t mind saying so. Before Loki’s self-imposed exile from their tower, he had shared every small revelation with Thor, and seeing the vast leaps he’s made after so long is astonishing.

Now that they’re just a room apart once again, Thor can only hope that the proximity will bring them back together in a more figurative way as well.

“At any rate,” Loki continues, “knocking is only polite. Especially when I’m in the middle of a tricky spell such as that one. If you’ll be invading my space on a regular basis to ask me asinine questions about my seidr, you can at least learn to announce yourself properly. Who knows what you’ll walk in on if you aren’t careful…”

The look thrown his way is pointed, and it could be that Thor has missed something there. But then the door is closing in his face, and the conversation has apparently come to an end.

\----

To Thor’s immense delight and relief, it doesn’t take long for their relationship to begin the mending process once he’s settled in the eastern wing as well. The tower incident was unfortunate (he’s still not sure how he’d managed to destroy it so completely), but luck was on his side when it became clear that the only available quarters befitting a prince left in the palace (while the delegations from Vanaheim and Nidavellir were visiting) were the rooms which adjoined Loki’s. He’d expected some resistance from his brother, but Loki had taken the news surprisingly well, and had only rolled his eyes a bit when Thor had turned up with his scorched belongings and informed him of their new arrangement. 

(Frigga had declined to come along and act as mediator for that conversation, saying that Thor had come of age decades ago and could surely handle the situation on his own. Thor also thought she might be busy explaining why one of the palace towers had seemingly self-destructed to the foreign dignitaries housed a few floors below it.)

But now that they’re living in close quarters again, Thor learns something new about his brother almost daily. Like the afternoon he’d dropped in on Loki (after knocking and receiving no answer) and found him curled up on the bed, four-legged and covered in the most luxurious silvery black coat. The last Thor knew, Loki made an excellent snake, magpie, or fox, but the wolf form was magnificent. He made sure to say as much, and though he’d never seen a wolf look flattered before, he thought that must have been what it looked like before Loki changed back to berate him for interrupting his nap.

Or the time a few months past when Loki had actually joined Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three at a tavern for an evening and wound up scandalizing even Fandral with the most ribald jokes and rakish winks, leaving Thor wiping tears of mirth from his beard before the night was done. Wherever Loki had picked up such an indecent sense of humor was beyond him, but his audacity continues to amaze Thor afterwards, especially when Loki appears as prim and proper as can be before the Allfather in court the morning after each long night of revelry they share. These occasions happen more and more frequently, and Thor finds that he hasn’t laughed so often or so hard in years. Sometimes as they stagger back to their rooms, he feels so light that he thinks he might be able to fly without Mjolnir one day… though that’s likely the mead talking. 

(And, on a few separate instances, Thor is certain that he’s caught a late-night glimpse of a maiden slipping into Loki’s quarters, raven-haired and pale as Loki himself, tall and slim, lovely as moonlight. He privately congratulates his brother’s fine taste in bedmates in his own head, since he dares not mention her for fear of Loki’s reaction. He’s sure pocket dimensions are not as exciting in person as they sound in theory.)

Loki himself seems not at all put out to be sharing space once again, and since the bathing chamber that joins their bedrooms is larger and more finely furnished than the one they shared in the tower, with a wide, deep pool fed by a hot spring, a large hearth, and separate privies on either side, he doesn’t even get to complain much about Thor’s things being in his way as he often did when they were children. 

All in all, Thor can hardly believe the progress they’ve made in just a season. Then again… two centuries apart isn’t really so long in the grand scheme of things.

\----

There’s a hunting party departing for Alfheim tomorrow at dawn, and for the first time since they were boys, Loki is joining Thor and his comrades. Thor is ecstatic about the prospect, and nearly thrumming with anticipation as he packs his things and makes his preparations. He’s so distracted that when he steps into the bathing chamber to retrieve a spare towel for his pack, it takes him several long moments to understand that what he’s seeing is Loki, standing at the edge of the pool, utterly bare from head to toe, and staring back at Thor with an expression that is somehow both bored and amused. 

In the space of those moments, he also finds that he’s now learned another new thing about his brother: his slim silhouette and layers of leather and fine wool completely belie the manner in which he’s grown to adulthood. One would never know that such worthy lines of lean muscle lie beneath Loki’s clothing, so shapely in their form and definition, or that he should be endowed so—and Thor shuts down that line of thought and averts his eyes immediately out of a delayed sense of self-preservation. 

More time has passed in silence than what is socially acceptable for such a situation, and Thor has yet to open his mouth and excuse himself. When he attempts to do so, he discovers that his mouth is already open, and hopes that it isn’t in too gaping a manner, but then Loki finds his words before Thor can start to look for his own.

“Is there something I can help you with, brother?” Loki asks, and makes no effort to cover himself. In fact, he almost seems to _preen_ at Thor’s attention, as much as he’s done at every spoken compliment given him since Thor moved down from the tower. His posture relaxes minutely, almost imperceptibly, but the line of his body is immediately more distracting.

Thor knows that he shouldn’t acknowledge any of this, but he can’t seem to stop himself from spluttering like an old maid, “Have you no shame?”

“Oh, certainly not,” Loki says, and Thor forces himself to look only at his brother’s grin as he slips into the bathing pool. “I wasn’t aware that _you_ did, however. I’m not sure you want to stay for this, but feel free to continue gawking if you please. I’m happy to provide a show.” The hand he casually slides down his chest towards regions further south can be nothing but an obscene promise. 

Too stunned to do anything else, Thor gathers his wits and flees, Loki’s huff of amusement echoing across the room as the door closes behind him. 

\----

The hunting expedition is _not_ suddenly called off due to bad weather, as Thor hopes, although he must admit that it was a foolish hope, since he would only be called upon to improve the weather himself if it were necessary. The enchanted stag they seek is elusive and skittish, however, so much of the four days they’ve spent on its trail through the forest have been silent and careful, and Thor hasn’t had to interact with his brother or anyone else for that matter, except in hand gestures and whispered consultation on how best to approach their quarry. 

He’s free enough to dwell on recent events in his own head, though, and finds that he’s not capable of thinking of much else.

What had Loki been thinking, extending that sort of indecent invitation? Surely he’d been bluffing, and it would have served him right for Thor to call him on it. But Loki’s not one to run from trouble, not lately, and these days he’s far bolder in his commitment to causing mischief. What would Thor have done if it hadn’t been a bluff? How long would he have stood there, watching while Loki’s long fingers slipped beneath the water, his normally pale cheeks flushed, his eyes lazily drifting shut as—

The snap of a twig underfoot sends the beast slipping through the trees like a dissipating mist, and Volstagg grumbles in frustration off to Thor’s left. “More caution, lad,” he huffs, perturbed. “I’m absolutely famished, and you’ve delayed the feast another half a day at least!”

Perhaps Thor should bristle at a sworn vassal addressing his prince in such a manner, friend or not, but he’s too displeased with himself to care even a little. 

He knows that retreat had been the only prudent move, as much as it grates upon Thor to run from any challenge. Loki no doubt would have found it the height of hilarity to shock Thor so, and he knows his games too well. 

Thor knows that he’s entirely out of his depth, but still, he can’t stop imagining what might have happened if he had stayed. 

\----

The stag is eventually caught, despite Thor’s distracted state, and the hunting party returns to Asgard victorious, a feast held that very night to honor their achievement. 

If anyone notices that Thor doesn’t participate as enthusiastically as usual in the revels, no one comments on it, and every time he sneaks a glance in Loki’s direction, he’s relieved to see that his brother’s attention is elsewhere. When Loki is asked to put his silver tongue to good use and recount their noble deeds, he even spins Thor’s several missteps into intentional measures taken to ensure their prey had a sporting chance against the mighty Asgardian warriors who tracked it.

It does not escape his notice that Loki could have left those lapses out entirely, and chose not to do so. This is a deliberate message, he knows, just for him, that Loki has been paying attention, and is well aware of the lasting effect his little stunt in the bath has had.

Whatever that means for Thor, he’s willing to bet that the humiliation is only just beginning.

\----

It’s been several weeks, and though Thor still has his guard up, no further incidents have occurred. Summer is blooming bright and hot, and it’s a testament to how much things have changed between them that Loki has followed him out to the practice yards instead of seeking out the cool, dark corners of the library as is his usual wont when the temperature begins to rise.

More amazing still is that when Volstagg and Hogun exit the practice ring after their sparring session, Lady Sif gives Loki an appraising once-over and says to him, “Would you care for a bout?” 

To everyone’s surprise, Loki acquiesces with a chivalrous incline of his head, then climbs gracefully over the rail and conjures a pair of daggers.

Thor is both bewildered and delighted.

He finds himself enraptured, watching them spar, fighting styles and figures complementary, both of them holding back slightly as though to be polite. Even their dark hair, less than common for Aesir, is fetchingly paired, and Thor suddenly thinks of the black-haired beauty that he’s seen visiting his brother at all hours of the night, and how the two of them may look together. Loki and Sif’s deft circling and feinting, brief clashes of steel, and faces flushed with the heat and exertion take on a new nature in Thor’s mind, and he has to look away from the match briefly to shake off the inappropriate thoughts. This is his brother and his friend, comely as they may be. It’s entirely improper of him, and unworthy of them both.

And surely just a side effect of the brazen joke Loki had played on him. Yes, it’s Loki’s fault, of course.

Loki eventually yields to the Lady Sif with ample courtesy, though Sif’s expression hints that she’s already thinking of a rematch, probably one ending with less grace on Loki’s part and a more pained surrender, if Thor knows her at all. Thor’s sigh of relief that it’s over is quiet and unnoticed, but then Fandral pipes up and requests a chance to best the second prince of Asgard, and after a moment to catch his breath, said prince accepts.

The way that Loki adapts to the change in tempo is fascinating to watch. Fandral’s movements are flashy and cavalier, and Loki responds in kind, grinning broadly as they dance around each other. The rapier that Fandral has chosen today gives him greater reach, so Loki is forced to wind his way through Fandral’s defenses and get in close in order to land any blows. It’s a remarkable display of finesse, and when the sword is finally flung away by a lightning-fast twist of a dagger, Thor whoops aloud, elated at his brother’s skill.

“Favoritism!” Fandral accuses him with a breathless laugh, dodging Loki’s strikes with decreasing accuracy as he tires. “Outrageous favoritism!” 

But his brother can’t lay the only claims to trickery here, and Fandral suddenly catches Loki’s wrist and twists him around, the exhaustion clearly feigned to catch Loki off guard. One dagger falls to the ground, and they grapple for a moment, Fandral’s arms locked around Loki from behind, the other blade caught between their forearms as they struggle for control. Thor’s breath catches, and he reaches out to steady himself on the railing without thinking. 

“Oh, we should do this more often. You’re far more fun than I anticipated,” Fandral pants to Loki, hardly loud enough for Thor to hear from his position outside the ring. Is it him, or does Fandral sound distinctly _flirtatious?_

His brother grins through the strain, leans back into Fandral, and all but _purrs_ , “You have no idea.”

The ground beneath his feet gives an almighty lurch that Thor feels in his stomach, and he grips the rail hard enough that it splinters. 

Dazed, looking around for a sign that anyone else felt the tremor, he completely misses whatever Loki does to break Fandral’s grip, and when he looks back, Fandral is laughing and raising his hands in surrender, Loki’s dagger at his throat. 

Sif and Volstagg are applauding politely (Hogun is silent, as usual), and the einherjar training in the other rings around them are focused on their own matches. No one gives any indication that the world just shifted. 

With a sinking feeling, Thor considers very carefully the recent turn his thoughts seem to have taken, and fears that he’s in far more trouble than he realized. 

When Loki catches his eye, grinning and disheveled and gorgeous, Thor’s mouth goes dry, and he knows it for a fact.

“Well fought!” Volstagg proclaims. “Has anyone else worked up an appetite?”

“All of us but Thor,” says Fandral, vaulting over the rail. He claps Thor on the back jovially and says, “Come, my friend. Let us see what two sons of Odin can do in the ring. Besides, I think Loki could stand to be taught a little lesson—” he positively waggles his eyebrows in Loki’s direction at this “—and here Sif and I have already worn him out for you.”

The wooden rail beneath his hand splits a bit further, and Fandral takes a cautious step back, confusion flashing in his eyes. 

“Or perhaps later,” he tries, but Loki interrupts from the center of the practice ring. 

“Come along, brother,” he calls, retrieving his dropped blade from the dirt. “Let it not be said that the mighty Thor ran from a challenge. It’s only me, after all. Look, I’ll even put these away.”

The gleam in Loki’s eyes as his daggers vanish hits Thor low in the gut—Hel, this is bad, so very bad—but he can’t retreat again, not with his friends watching. 

So Volstagg, Fandral, and Sif give a cheer as Thor climbs into the ring, terrified.

For a moment or two, he stands there helpless, gaze somewhere in the vicinity of Loki’s left shoulder, unsure of how to proceed. He needs time to sit down and think, and perhaps a large quantity of ale, but he has neither—and Loki is suddenly striking out with a kick. Instinct has Thor dodging and strafing right, but his brother has already anticipated this move, and Thor takes a fist low on his side for it. He ducks backward, too slow, and Loki’s leg sweeps his feet from under him, dropping him directly on his ass, hard. 

He hears a low whistle from their audience, and Volstagg calls helpfully, “Pathetic! Where’s your head, Thor?”

An excellent question, and the answer is now standing over him, frowning.

“Care to try that again?” Loki asks.

No, he doesn’t, but Thor is clambering to his feet anyway. He desperately tries to clear his mind, to focus on getting in a few good hits so that he can run and hide with some scrap of honor left, but all he can think of is the sly grin on his brother’s face as he’d flirted with Fandral, the ripples in the bathing pool as he’d slid in, long and lean and shameless, the hand finding its way down his pale chest, fingers sliding through the dark hair trailing down from his navel...

It’s only by chance and a decent amount of luck that he catches the fist thrown at his face, and he manages to fling his brother backward with some force. Encouraged by the response, Loki dives back in, and for several minutes Thor only barely holds him off, blocking, ducking, twisting out of reach. His friends shout encouragement, thinking that he’s holding back and will lay Loki flat any time now, and when Thor catches Loki across the jaw with a fist thrown out of sheer frustration, he thinks he may actually make it out of this alive. 

But half a second later, Thor is once more on the ground, flat on his back, the breath knocked out of him. This time, Loki has planted himself directly in Thor’s middle, and pinned his arms on either side. 

Several things go through Thor’s mind all at once, but chief among them is the drop of sweat that makes its glistening way down the side of Loki’s throat, so slowly, and Thor is _lost_. He blinks and looks elsewhere, but he can still see it in his mind, and it’s likely to haunt him for millennia to come. 

A few tense moments pass, and when it becomes clear that he won’t be throwing Loki off of him, his wrists are released, and Loki shifts his weight backward, resting across Thor’s hips. 

(Thor will never admit to the squeak that escapes him at this, and thankfully it’s drowned out by Fandral’s disappointed booing.)

“I must say, I expected more of you, brother,” Loki says, slightly winded, but his expression is still triumphant—until he takes a long look at Thor’s face, and a crease forms between his eyebrows.

The distress must be written there plain as day, but any hope that Thor had of the exact nature of it being less obvious is quickly dashed as Loki’s suspicious frown slowly twists into a knowing grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Loki takes up a new hobby, and Thor hates it. 
> 
> Come see me on tumblr over [here](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/)!


	3. Chapter 2

When Thor and Loki were children, one of their favorite scary stories to whisper to each other at night (when they should have been sleeping, hiding under the covers and roughhousing and finally dozing off in a tangle of limbs), had been of Ragnarok. In truth, the idea of it had scared Thor more than any of the other, darker tales, for what could be more frightening than the end of the world? But Loki, cuddled into his side as they fell asleep, had made him feel better, because even if it would all end someday, at least he had his little brother. 

These days, Thor welcomes the end of all things. Hopes for it even. 

“No, no, you’ll want to grip the hilt like so—”

“Ah, my grasp was too firm, I see.”

“Not that I don’t admire your enthusiasm, but a delicate touch is necessary in some matters… Swordplay, diplomacy… bed play, naturally.”

“Hmmm, yes, naturally.”

Thor clears his throat as loudly as he can manage, which startles several young recruits going through their forms nearby, but it has no effect whatsoever on his brother and Fandral as their lesson in fencing continues. 

Perhaps he should be more take some initiative, and seek out Surtur himself. He’s sure that the demon of legend has something to do with Ragnarok and could help him… or had Odin already slain him? Thor would have to confirm, but he didn’t want to rule it out just yet. 

“Now your stance, Loki. Your legs should be spread just a bit farther apart—”

“Oh, I bet you say that to all your students.”

“Only a choice few, I assure you.”

When Thor looks up, he finds his brother and Fandral standing entirely too close together, staring at Loki’s feet, Fandral pointing and Loki making adjustments as advised. Feeling the attention upon him, Loki glances up and meets Thor’s gaze, then tosses him a cheerful grin before leaning close to whisper something to Fandral. 

The dark clouds begin to roll in after his (false, positively villainous) friend tosses his head back in riotous laughter, and Thor comes to the conclusion that his time would be better spent researching ancient prophecies in the library than on training today.

\---- 

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if it were _just_ Fandral that Loki had developed some sudden fascination with… Thor has to admit that Fandral’s quite charming, after all, as much as he wants to take Mjolnir to that pretty face these days. If it were only Fandral, and the two of them had taken a mutual interest in one another, a natural attraction growing after Loki had asked for some extra assistance in increasing his skill with a sword, then Thor could understand it, even if he doesn’t like it. 

(He definitely _does not_ like it.)

But it isn’t just Fandral. Loki has not limited his amorous attentions to any one person, any one group of people, or any one gender. Thor is convinced that this is punishment for his own newfound depravity (still coming to terms with that—his mead intake has nearly tripled in the last month, coincidentally). And since Loki’s new favorite pastime is haunting the training yards, sparring with anyone and everyone (the newest recruits of the palace guard are especially delighted to receive such attention from their prince), Thor is never too far away to hear his laughter over the crash of steel and wood, or catch one of the frequent winks sent his way across the yard. 

He’s not limited his prospects to the practice field either. All the hopeful maidens that have been eyeing Thor at every feast since he hit that first major growth spurt and began to fill out now make eyes at his brother as well, tittering over his wit and dashing looks. A few would-be suitors have even approached Thor in private to inquire after Loki’s state of availability. He tells them all, “I believe his affections are currently spoken for, so sorry,” through gritted teeth and doesn’t feel even a shred of guilt for it. 

(It’s not entirely a lie—he can’t be sure of his brother’s status, knowing about the mystery maiden as he does. How she fits into all this excessive flirtation is unknown, but he hopes Loki wouldn’t mistreat her.)

It seems that hardly any space is safe for Thor’s mental state anymore, maybe aside from the washroom behind the barracks. He’s taken to using it after training, since it’s close to the yard, but mostly because every time he’s alone in their shared bathing chamber, he has a difficult time not thinking of his brother and what he may get up to on his own in that very same bath. He’s been tempted—oh so tempted—to give in and let his imagination and his hand take over, but he knows he could never face Loki after that, not without dropping to his knees, confessing all, and begging forgiveness for his disgraceful lust. And even though it’s torment to be near him, he’s not sure he could stay away now that he’s grown so accustomed to Loki’s constant presence again. 

So Thor continues about his business as best he can, and once he notices the strange way that Hogun looks at him during an evening of revelry (he’d been staring at his brother, heartsick, faking his mirth, and how odd that must look), he swears to himself to be less obvious in his pining while more observant onlookers are nearby.

\----

After much practice and a fair bit of time, Thor feels that he’s doing a marvelous job of keeping the lid tightly shut on this mess. His self-control is improving, and he’s only thought of his brother maybe… oh, seventy percent of the time. A marked improvement, to be sure.

He’s focused all through the council meeting this morning, even offering some input that pleases his father, and after a quick midday meal, he walks down to the training yards, head held high, and doesn’t so much as look up when Loki arrives as if by magic not half an hour later. His concentration doesn’t waver as he sees to maintaining his proficiency with a bow (often neglected in favor of hammer-wielding, though he’s not so terrible), and he takes pleasure in the twang of the string, the whisper and thud of arrows finding their marks, the sweat beading at his temples and the small of his back. He nearly forgets that Loki is nearby—

“Norns, but it’s hot today!” 

Ah, there he is. And much closer than he’d been when last Thor looked. He sneaks an inconspicuous peek over his shoulder as he draws an arrow from the quiver at his hip, and sees that his brother’s attentions are back on Fandral today (that brazen scoundrel—that _wretch_ ). They’ve taken the empty ring closest to Thor, drawing swords and settling into practiced, elegant stances. 

It becomes obvious very soon that Fandral hasn’t only been ogling Loki during the time they’ve spent training together, because their first touches of steel are swift and skillful, and Thor quite forgets what he was doing in favor of watching them attack and parry. 

Loki’s color is high with the heat, his hair damp and curling, and Thor unconsciously licks his lips at the sight before he can stop himself. A worried glance around tells him that no one is paying attention to him, which is well, since he’s standing there with an arrow useless in one hand and his bow hanging forgotten in the other. Just to be safe, he adopts a more casual pose, and goes back to ogling his brother himself. 

Whether it’s reward or punishment, Thor doesn’t know, but when Loki and Fandral finally stop for a break, Loki declares that it’s much too warm to be dressed in so many clothes—what was he thinking—and proceeds to remove some from his upper half. 

“If you’ll indulge me for just a moment,” he says to Fandral, apologetic tone ringing quite false, and begins dropping his leathers piece by piece in a neat pile off to the side of the ring. 

Fandral does not look away politely, as well he should (the lecherous fiend), and he says, “I’d indulge you for _several_ moments, my friend. Believe me.”

_CRACK_

Thor regrets the loss of the bow, and regrets the snap of the string across his bare arm even more. That will surely leave a bruise. 

But more importantly, Loki has stripped down to his thin undertunic, already dark with sweat, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and laces undone halfway down his chest. He shakes out his hands and stretches his arms over his head to loosen up, and it’s clear that all the increased physical training these last several weeks has only improved upon what Thor had seen in the bath that fateful day. Once more, it’s impossible to prevent his tongue darting out to wet his now very dry lips. 

As if hearing his thoughts, Loki suddenly seems rather parched himself, so he takes a long drink, and because he obviously wants Thor to suffer as much as possible, he dumps the rest of the water skin’s contents over his head when he’s done.

Thor sends a murderous warning glare in Fandral’s direction, but it’s too late, and of course the villain’s attentions are fully occupied by this little show. Frustrated at his friend and his brother and himself—he’d been doing _so well_ today—he decides on retreat, for there’s not much else he can do without embarrassing himself. He allows one last longing look at his brother—but he meets Loki’s gaze instead, his green eyes narrowed in mirth, a dangerous smile soft on his wet lips. 

In an astounding demonstration of willpower, Thor clears his throat, attempts to return a smile (he hopes it’s more smile than grimace, but he can’t be sure), deposits his broken bow and half-empty quiver in a passing attendant’s arms, and then puts one foot in front of the other, slowly and deliberately, all the way back to the palace. 

\----

For an entire week afterward, Thor sees neither hide nor hair of his brother. Not at the practice yards, where Fandral makes no comment on Loki’s absence (discourteous, insulting even—Thor would certainly have stated how much he missed Loki in Fandral’s place, that faithless, inconstant _cad_ ), not in the hall outside their quarters, not in the bathing chamber, not at meal times. He could check the library if he were so inclined, but since he doesn’t know what he would even say to Loki if he were there, he leaves it be. 

Finally, after a long morning of sitting at court, listening to his father pronounce judgements for the common folk (it’s his turn to observe this month), he sees a familiar silhouette walking towards him down their corridor in the eastern wing. Despite the torture that usually accompanies his brother as of late, Thor breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of him. 

Loki smiles, genuine and warm and seemingly benign, and steps into his rooms without a word, the latch sliding into place after him. 

Thor stares at the door for several long minutes before he realizes that he’s still waiting for his punishment. But there’s no one around to be flirted at, and Loki’s tunic was done all the way up, not even a flash of collarbone to distract him. Confused, and maybe a little disappointed, Thor even goes so far as to press his ear to Loki’s door, just in case, but he hears nothing. 

It’s too much to hope that it’s over, that Loki has tired of this wildly inappropriate game. When they were children, Thor could usually put an end to Loki purposefully irritating him by ignoring the behavior, pretending it didn’t bother him, but his carefully controlled exit from the training yards last week couldn’t have been enough to bring this to a close. 

Feeling off-balance and thoroughly disquieted, Thor decides that maybe an afternoon spent in physical exertion—without certain distractions around—will help. 

\----

The sun has sunk well past the horizon when Thor gives in, tired and sore, but mind blessedly clear. He’d ruined several swords and two battleaxes, but his arms and back were aching from the hours he’d spent sharpening blades and oiling and polishing shields and wooden practice staves in apology afterwards. The master of the training yards said to think nothing of it, that they had plenty to spare, but eventually shook his head in bewilderment and retrieved a whetstone when the prince insisted. 

Feeling worlds better, what he wants more than anything now is a long hot soak, and he calls Mjolnir to his hand for a quick flight up to his rooms. Then he remembers the way Loki had smiled at him this morning… and he heads dejectedly to the barracks’ washroom instead. 

It’s empty at first glance, the row of sunken tubs steaming in welcome, water dripping from a leaking tap somewhere. But as Thor sets his hammer down and reaches for the laces of his breeches, a quiet splash and rustle of cloth suggests it’s not so vacant after all. 

Thor turns and gasps in surprise. The washroom is definitely not empty, but its other occupants are so focused on each other that they haven’t even noticed him. They’re seated at the edge of one bath, half in the water. The man’s broad, tanned, muscled back is to Thor, and his companion’s pale legs wrapped around his waist and hands in his blond hair stand out in sharp contrast in the dim torchlight. They move together, shifting sideways, and as the bodice of the woman’s gown gapes open, Thor catches a glimpse of a small, shapely breast, nipple rosy-blush, and forces himself to tear his gaze away.

He’s about to make a hasty exit, already having seen more than is polite, when he realizes that her hair is black and her skin is creamy white… and he thinks that Loki’s midnight visitor must not be too concerned with his brother’s exploits lately after all. Then he wonders if Loki knows about _this_.

He doesn’t get too far away before her face appears over her lover’s shoulder, parted lips red against her pale skin—but the line of her nose is intimately familiar, the high, sharp cheekbones, even the crease between her eyebrows as she lets out a breathless gasp of pleasure. 

There’s a storm building in Thor’s veins, sudden and fierce, but the thunder is only roaring in his head, and Mjolnir is silent on the ground at his feet. 

He already knows that her eyes will be green before they flutter open and unerringly find his own. 

She doesn’t startle, because she knew he was there all along. The smile that forms on her lips hits harder than any physical blow he’s ever felt, affecting even his vision as the scene in front of him almost seems to waver, blurring at the edges. The tempest in him dies instantly as he takes a fumbling step backwards. He’s lost, so very lost, and when Loki flashes her teeth and _winks_ at him, he abandons all pretense of dignity and fairly flees for his life. 

\----

Hours later, Thor is still in his bath up in the east wing, his skin wrinkled and head a mess. He’s tried to objectively analyze all the facts so he can come up with some plan of action, but he keeps getting stuck on the first step, replaying the same scenes over and over in his mind.

Loki in the pool, offering to let him to stay and watch. 

Loki calling him into the practice ring, that veiled jab for having run away before. 

Loki’s hand on his chest, then his stomach, sinking lower and lower. 

Loki grinning at him with a softer face, fuller lips, perfect breasts, clinging to some faceless man that looked entirely too much like Thor himself to be anything but an intentional challenge. 

Loki dripping wet in the sunshine, licking water from his lips and silently daring Thor to say something… 

Thor groans and ducks his head under for a moment, but it doesn’t help, and now he just has soap in his eyes. 

Outside, a door creaks open, then shuts and latches: Loki coming back into his bedroom from—from _wherever_. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

It’s after midnight, and Thor wonders which form Loki is wearing now, brother or sister, and finds that he doesn’t much care, if only Loki would come out and say whatever it is that he—she— _they_ have been trying to get at all this time. Ideally, that conversation would end in torn clothing, mussed sheets, and blissful release from all this damned tension, but the reality of the situation is that they’re still _siblings_ , and it’s so very far outside the realm of possibility. He’d be lucky if Loki allowed him so much as a few brotherly scritches behind his wolf’s ears once the full extent of his depravity comes to light. 

But one question nags at him still, demanding an answer: if his unnatural attraction is so abhorrent, then why in the Nine Realms has Loki been _encouraging_ it? Because that’s precisely what’s happened, even if the whole thing is an elaborate scheme to expose him for the deviant he is and crush his spirit. Loki hasn’t looked at him in disgust once through all this; in fact, he’s been nothing but taunting winks and come-hither grins, staying close but just out of reach, throwing himself at everyone in Asgard but Thor and daring him to do more than just stare. 

He doesn’t dare think about what this could mean, because it can’t be anything good. It just _can’t_. His brother is the god of mischief and bears the name well, and he’s always thrived on making Thor uncomfortable, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Thor’s brother, and he can’t justify even the smallest glimmer of hope that Loki could ever feel something similar for him. 

The heat of the bath has become too much to handle suddenly, and his head is swimming. He hauls himself out of the pool, makes a half-hearted attempt at toweling off on the way to his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him, and collapses facedown onto the light summer linens. His hair and beard are soaking his pillow, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

He’s nearly asleep when he hears the other door, and the unmistakable sound of someone climbing into the bath. 

At least Loki waited until he was out. 

Thor buries his face deeper into his pillow. Maybe he’ll just smother himself and have done with the whole business. 

He tries to keep his mind blank, to go to sleep and not imagine what could be going on just a few steps away, but it’s already too late. Soon there’s a stirring low in his belly, and he presses his naked hips into the sheets in frustration. 

It’s too quiet this time of night, and Thor can hear every slosh and drip of water echoing through the door as Loki—as Loki does whatever it is he may be doing. Thor hopes that he can’t hear the creak of his bed, because he can’t seem to stop the short thrusts of his hips now that he’s started. 

A sigh of relief takes him by surprise, and he stills, worried that he’s given himself away—but it happens again, and Thor abruptly understands that it wasn’t him. He wrenches his head up and stares at the door as though he’ll be able to see through it. 

Suddenly Loki _groans_ , low and filthy, and Thor all but whimpers in response. His cock is hard and heavy between his legs now, and he ruts against the bed, powerless with his brother’s voice ringing in his ears. The splashing coming from the bath is rhythmic and distinct, and Thor matches the pace, pushing his face back into the pillow to keep silent, but there’s no quieting the obvious thumping of the bedframe against the stone wall. Loki has to be hearing it, there’s no way that he isn’t, but he’s not stopping either, and Thor is absolutely dizzy with want and hope and guilt and desperation. 

The noises Loki’s making now, all deep moans and muttered curses, have Thor reaching down and taking hold of his cock with a muffled sob. When his brother lets out a bitten-off shout, Thor spills over his fingers and onto the sheets, unable to prevent the hoarse cry of his own. 

Harsh panting on both sides of the door is the only sound for a few moments afterwards, and as the capacity for rational thought returns to Thor, he rolls over and out of the wet spot and stares helplessly up at the canopy over his bed. 

Hope and despair chase each other in circles in his mind… _surely that wasn’t a trick,_ he thinks, _surely that was real_ , but it’s swiftly followed by the cruel certainty that, no, it couldn’t have been real, that it would be impossible… but then he’s back round to wondering just how far Loki would go to bring him low. He wouldn’t have gone _that_ far, would he…? 

Despite his inner turmoil, sleep finds him surprisingly fast, and the last thing he remembers hearing is a satisfied yawn from beyond the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thor quits running. 
> 
> (And uh, maybe we earn that explicit rating...)
> 
> Tumblr's [right here](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/).


	4. Chapter 3

Thor has been running for too long, he decides the next morning. All the silent challenges his brother has been issuing have gone unmet, and though he always ran for very good, very intelligent, sanity-sparing reasons, he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to do now, or how much further Loki can push him before he breaks. What could he possibly come up with next, and what are the chances of Thor surviving it? 

No, it’s time to be proactive. If he’s wrong, well, he’ll deal with that when the time comes. But if he’s _right_ …

“Oh, my apologies!” the chambermaid gasps, and Thor nearly tumbles off the bed. He’s still on top of the covers, nude, with dried spend crusted on his stomach, where he’s been since he woke and started putting together a plan. He scrambles for a pillow to cover himself while—Dagny, that’s her name—lifts up the stack of fresh towels and linens she was carrying to block her view. He hadn’t even heard her come in. 

“So sorry, your highness,” she says, backing away nervously. “You’re usually out of your rooms by now. I’ll just… I’ll just come back later.” 

After she’s gone, Thor drags himself out of bed and dresses. He’s nearly to the door when he thinks of the state of his bedding with a jolt of embarrassment, and then quickly strips the sheets himself and tries to arrange them in a neat pile, questionable stain hidden, for Dagny to collect.

\----

His (admittedly simple) plan _had_ been to wait around until his brother returned to his rooms for the night, catch him in the corridor, and then have this out in private, but Volstagg had stopped him in the courtyards to extend an invitation to try some new tavern in the city… and then Fandral had turned up (and had the nerve to ask if Loki was going—outrageous, _presumptuous_ ), and by the time he’d begged off, gotten rid of them, and made his way back to the eastern wing, Loki had already retired. 

But when Thor steps into his own bedroom and hears Loki sloshing around in the bath, he thinks it’s only fitting, given where this whole mess started. He takes a deep, steadying breath, reaches for the latch, and steps in.

“Knocking is polite, you know,” Loki says from the pool. 

His back is to Thor, and he doesn’t bother to turn around. Thor takes the opportunity to admire what he can see of the span of his shoulders, the way the wet hair curls at the nape of his neck and around his ears. 

“It is,” Thor replies, and waits. If he can keep from rambling, from rushing headlong into this, he might stand a chance of surviving it. To be safe, he crosses his arms and leans back against the door, though he’s sure he doesn’t look as casual as he’d like. 

“Is there something you wanted?” Loki’s tone is unaffected, bored even. He still hasn’t looked up. 

Thor tries for conversational, though it’s a bit ruined when his voice cracks and comes out decidedly husky. “Y-you know, brother,” he says, clearing his throat, “I rather thought there might be something that _you_ wanted.”

With a splash, Loki turns, his green eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. 

Norns—perhaps he’s made a mistake after all… He makes an attempt to salvage the situation, and blurts, “Damned if I know what it is.” 

But Loki’s mouth closes, turns up at one corner. “Don’t you though?” he asks, and suddenly he’s rising up out of the water, more and more pale, shining skin revealed as he climbs the stone steps that lead up out of the pool. “Shall I spell it out for you?”

An involuntary glance down tells him that his brother is half-hard, and Thor is now having a hard time breathing. Forget _speaking_.

“I could, if you like,” Loki offers, still smiling, and starts toward him, slowly and deliberately. “I could tell you what I’ve been hinting at for months, Thor, that I want more than my own hand while you touch yourself in the other room. That I’ve wanted it for centuries.” 

_Centuries?_ Reeling, Thor braces himself against the door, nails digging into the ancient wood as he scrabbles for something to hold onto.

“I could tell you that I’d like nothing better than you in my bed, in _me_ , while I plead for release… Or how I’d go to my knees here and now, let you use me as harshly as you like…”

He’s closer every second, dripping a trail across the floor, and Thor tries to sink through the door under the intensity of his gaze. He has never trembled before any threat in his life, but he shakes now, with desperate desire and disbelief and the fear that this will fall apart at any moment. Loki’s tongue swipes at his upper lip, catching a stray drop of water, and he continues. 

“I could say that I want you to fuck me so hard I feel it for days, in this form and the other—and oh, how I would beg to feel you in my cunt, brother, your fingers, your tongue, your cock.” Bare inches separate them now, and Loki’s hands come up to rest against the door on either side of Thor’s head, the scent of him fresh from the bath and the filthiness of this little speech leaving Thor feeling distinctly weak in the knees. He had hardly dared to hope, and now that it seems his wildest dreams couldn’t even compare to reality, he has no idea what to do with himself. 

But Loki hasn’t finished yet, and Thor closes his eyes, bites down hard on his lip as his brother breathes into his ear, “I could tell you that I want you anywhere I can have you, any way I can have you.” Goosebumps spread down his neck when Loki’s lips brush over his skin, feather-light. “I could tell you exactly what I want,” he says softly, “but tell me, brother… who’s to say you wouldn’t just run again if I did?”

It takes a moment for his words to really register, and once they do, Thor loves him for making this so simple. One more dare, one more challenge to meet, and this time, Thor is ready for it. 

He finds Loki’s mouth with his own the same moment his hands find Loki’s hips, and he hardly has the chance to take note of how the wet skin feels under his fingers, or how his brother’s lips part to him, before Loki’s talented tongue is in his mouth, eager and searching. Thor gives a disbelieving groan as he's shoved back against the door, and Loki’s hands are suddenly everywhere, in his hair, pulling at his tunic, tugging at the laces of his breeches.

 _“Off,”_ he hisses against Thor’s mouth. “Get these off, _now_.” 

Thor goes a bit light-headed at the prospect, but he catches up quickly, and his and Loki’s combined efforts soon have his pants open and pushed halfway down his thighs, and then Thor is gasping as his brother’s hand wraps around his length. A few rough strokes make it immediately clear that he will not be lasting long. 

“Brother,” he begs—Loki lets out a whine at this—and pulls him in close, slotting their hips together. Loki’s cock bumps and slides against his, leaving a slick trail where the leaking tip grazes over his skin, and Thor grasps them together, batting Loki’s fingers out of the way before he’s undone too soon. 

His brother is miles of warm, wet skin pressed against him, and Thor can hardly believe this is happening. He clutches at whatever he can reach with his other hand, fingers raking up Loki’s ribs, thumbing over a nipple, grasping at his shoulders and the nape of his neck and down his back, desperate for all of him as he takes hold of Loki’s ass and hauls him in even closer. Throughout Thor’s explorations, Loki pants into his mouth, quiet little _ah, ah, ah_ s along with the surge of his hips as he thrusts into Thor’s grip, his own fingers digging into Thor’s arms, likely hard enough to bruise. 

“Next time,” Thor says, and pauses as Loki’s teeth sink into his bottom lip, just this side of sharp, “ _fuck, Loki_ —next time, we will take all the time we like.”

Loki hums and asks, “Is that a promise?” 

“Aye. But now I want nothing more than to see you come, brother.”

Loki’s rhythm falters, and Thor slides the pad of his thumb over his slit, presses against the bundle of nerves just below, and suddenly Loki is gasping and spilling in hot pulses over Thor’s hand and both their cocks. The sight of it is more than Thor can take, and he follows only seconds after, seeking out his brother’s lips and letting his eyes fall shut as he comes. 

The kiss is no more than a clumsy press of open mouths, but Thor thinks it’s likely the best he’s ever had. It lasts for several long, breathless moments, but then Loki pulls away, and Thor frowns at the loss. But he only takes a few shaky steps (Thor notes his unsteadiness with no small amount of satisfaction), crossing the room to retrieve a towel, and is soon back in touching distance. He allows Thor to take it from him and fluff out his wet hair with a roll of his eyes, and then after a pass over their messy stomachs, Loki gives him a long, appraising look. 

Despite his current state of bliss, Thor finds the capacity to be a bit concerned at its intensity, and asks, “Are you well?”

“Rather,” Loki says, a smirk spreading on his lips. “But you’re overdressed, and you _did_ mention a next time.”

\----

“Brother,” Loki says, and the evenness of his tone despite the circumstances is enough to draw Thor’s attention away from his task. (Quite a feat, considering.)

“Hm?”

Loki looks down at him, hair still damp from the bath, cheeks pink, and forehead glistening with sweat. “Brother,” he says again, smiling, “if you don’t hurry up and fuck me, I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

Thor grins back, but doesn’t still his hand. His brother is stretched around three of his fingers, tight and hot, and, up until now, Loki has been letting out the most incredible string of curses and groans and whimpers, his head thrown back against the pillows and back arched. (Thor will admit to having speculated about how vocal Loki might be in bed, but so far, all his expectations have been exceeded.) “I thought we were taking our time,” he replies. 

“Norns, I hate you. Perhaps I’ll— _hn_ —drown you in the bath instead.”

Ignoring this, Thor goes back to what he was doing: namely, exploring every inch of Loki that he can with his lips and tongue while his fingers open him up. Every inch but several important ones, that is. He’s dying to reach out and taste the bead of slick welling up at the tip of Loki’s cock, but he did promise to go slowly after all (and it’s only fair after the months of torment he experienced at Loki’s hands). He carefully angles his head to bypass it entirely and dips his tongue into Loki’s navel instead, twisting his hand just so—

“I could easily poison y— _damn you, Thor, I swear it_ —”

As fun as this torture is, it’s starting to wear on Thor as well, and perhaps it’s time to take mercy on them both. He gently slides his fingers free and shifts up to his knees ( _“Finally!”_ Loki hisses), and then Loki makes his little hand gesture again (the same one he’d done once they stumbled out of the bathing chamber and into Thor’s bed, to ease the way for his fingers—so useful, seidr), and Thor’s breath leaves him in a punched-out exhale as his cock is enveloped in a slick wave of warmth. 

(So _very_ useful.)

Loki’s nails are digging into his shoulders and his legs wrapping around his waist, and Thor wastes no more time teasing. He lines up and presses in, as slowly and carefully as he can manage, jaw dropping while Loki lets out a long, low whine. 

“Brother,” Thor gasps, and Loki gives a strangled _hnnng_ in agreement. It’s incredible, the slide and the heat and the pressure around his length, and it’s all Thor can do to keep from driving in all at once. He likes to think of himself as a considerate lover, but his patience is being sorely tested, especially when Loki digs his heels into Thor’s backside and pushes back against him. 

Years later, or what feels like it, he finally sinks all the way home, and he drops his forehead to Loki’s and tries to give them a moment to adjust. For just a few seconds, Thor is able to bask in the pleasure and take in all the little details, like Loki’s breath warm against his face, or the tickle of a drop of sweat slipping into the small of his back, or especially the way he can feel Loki’s racing pulse, deep inside. He would stay here for hours if he could, he thinks desperately.

But, ever contrary, his brother is not having it, and there’s a sudden, terrific clench around his cock that has him nearly howling. 

“Move,” Loki breathes, and licks over Thor’s parted lips with a feather-light brush of his tongue. 

Thus persuaded, Thor is unable to do anything but comply. The first few stilted thrusts are an exquisite torment, but soon they find their rhythm, and Thor ducks his head to Loki’s throat, mouthing over his pulse and letting his teeth graze the skin. His brother’s hands roam over his back and shoulders, nails scraping, fisting in his hair, and when Thor rears back and hefts one of Loki’s legs up over his shoulder to change his angle and press deeper, Loki chokes out a curse and reaches for his cock, hard and red and leaking. Again Thor thinks longingly of getting his mouth on it, but he’s been waiting months for this… and with a heady rush, he realizes that they have all the time in the world for everything else they can imagine doing to one another. 

Loki strokes himself at a frantic pace, getting straight to the point, and Thor takes all the care he can muster to ensure each thrust finds the spot that leaves his brother blessing and cursing him in the same breath.

“ _Fuck_ , don’t stop, oh you miserable—oh how I hate you, it’s so good, _soclosebrotherplease_ …”

Loki’s hair is a disheveled tangle of curls where it’s been rubbed dry against the linens, his face and chest beautifully flushed and shining with sweat, and Thor wonders if he’s ever seen a more stunning sight. “Gorgeous,” he says to himself—and with that, Loki is coming, streaking his stomach and mouth falling open in a wordless moan. Thor fucks him through it, no longer content with a slow, steady stroll towards the finish, and once Loki collapses boneless across the linens, Thor follows him down, bracing his elbows on the bed and chasing after his own release. 

It doesn’t take long to catch it, especially not once Loki starts murmuring encouragement into his ear, all _that’s it_ , and _fill me, brother_ , and _let me feel it_ , in a hoarse, ragged voice. Thor can only repeat his brother’s name as he surrenders to it, driving deep and spilling in a rush, overwhelmed at the sensation. 

Moments later, dazed, he manages to focus on the heave of Loki’s chest beneath him, and carefully slips free (both of them let out a hiss at the oversensitivity) and drops to the bed at his brother’s side. It seems that neither of them has anything much to say, so Thor lets his heartrate begin to slow, and takes advantage of the silence to stare at Loki all he pleases. 

The next thing he knows, he’s jolting awake at the knee in his side and grumbling a complaint, but Loki just mutters a grouchy _shut up and sleep_ as he rolls over, settling in with his back to Thor’s chest. 

Thor can work with that. He wraps his arms around his brother, and drops off, content.

\----

There is a trail of clothes leading from the bath up to the side of Thor’s bed, all of them his, and for a moment, he isn’t entirely sure how they got there. 

The sun is rising outside his window, filling his bedroom with warm pinkish-orange light, and he lifts his head from his pillow, scoots toward the edge of the bed, blinks several times, and takes another look. 

Yes. His clothes, on the floor. There’s a towel as well, nearer the door to the bathing chamber. 

_“Hel!”_

—and _those_ are Loki’s feet, cold as ice, in the backs of his knees. The night before comes rushing back, and Thor sits up straight, desperate to confirm that it had really happened.

“Stop moving,” Loki grouses, voice deep and rough with sleep, and he glares at Thor with enough ire to make any god quail, though the effect is a bit ruined by the state of his hair and the crease across his cheek from a wrinkle in the linens. 

He’s the most beautiful thing Thor has ever seen. 

Sighing in relief, he lies back down, and gathers Loki up his arms (ignoring the sharp jab he receives for jostling him). “Good morning,” he says into Loki’s neck, and eventually, his brother relaxes into the embrace with an annoyed huff. 

“It would be better if you’d be quiet about it,” he says, but winds a hand into Thor’s hair and drags his nails pleasantly across his scalp. 

Blissfully content, Thor thinks of all the confusion and hope and blinding jealousy and anguish he’s felt over the last few months, and marvels at this outcome. He hadn’t really known what to expect when he’d confronted Loki, but he’s certain that nothing he could have imagined would compare to this, and his morning-stiff length gives an interested twitch against Loki’s hip when he thinks of what may lie ahead. Many more soft and sweet mornings like this, he hopes, following more nights like the last… he thinks of expeditions and adventures, just the two of them out in the wilds alone, of doing whatever they please whenever they please for millennia to come. 

But that won’t be the way of it, he realizes abruptly, his little daydream falling apart as he remembers that the throne awaits one of them and all the responsibility that will accompany it. He isn’t sure what Loki has in mind for the future, for _their_ future together, but are still some glaring issues to be addressed, regardless of what either of them wants. 

Thor shifts a bit and draws his fingers over the line of Loki’s jaw, down his throat, over his collarbone. He would be happy to stay here forever, and Loki seems to have no complaints, settling into the soft touches and turning onto his back to make himself more accessible. But as much as both of them are pleased with their current situation, it could never be known. They could never be open about the nature of their relationship or free with their affection… and when the Allfather steps down, whichever brother takes his place will be expected to marry, to produce an heir, and will certainly not allowed to maintain an incestuous affair on the side.

Loki says something, cutting through Thor’s preoccupation, but he doesn’t quite catch it in time. He tries to shake off his sudden gloom, and asks Loki to repeat himself (there is a put-upon look and a roll of his eyes, but he does so).

“I said, does that bother you?”

Occasionally Thor has suspected that Loki is capable of some degree of mind-reading, but he schools his expression and decides to feign ignorance. “Does what?” he asks. 

Loki nods his head, pointing at Thor’s hand, where he’s been unconsciously pawing at the few soft, dark hairs scattered across his brother’s chest. 

“I know I’m not exactly what you’re accustomed to,” Loki continues. 

Oh.

And here Thor thought he had no capacity for shame or self-consciousness. To be honest, Thor had thought it the height of unfairness when an adolescent Loki had started growing hair on his chest, since Thor could never seem to manage it himself. He’d kept and flaunted his beard from the start, just to keep things even. 

He smiles and continues his exploration, following the swell of a pectoral, tracing a finger through the line of fine hair around a nipple. “And what do you imagine I’m accustomed to, brother?” he finally asks, glancing up at Loki’s face. 

Loki flashes his teeth, and there’s a sudden change that Thor can’t seem to follow with his eyes, and can only observe as a faint ripple in his periphery. One moment his brother is in his arms, and the next, it’s his sister. Seeing her up close for the first time is a strange thrill, and Thor drinks in the sight, wondering how he never recognized Loki this way, slipping through their corridor in the dead of night. Her jaw is softer and bottom lip plumper, but the eyes and nose and cheekbones are sharp as they’ve ever been, and even the curve of her waist and hips is mild. 

(Thor also notes with some delight that his hand is now cupping a small, firm breast, and can’t help but give it a gentle squeeze. _Norns_ , he thinks to himself. He should have taken up with a shapeshifter ages ago.)

“This of course,” Loki says, and her voice is higher in pitch, but still has the same familiar timbre. “Less body hair, after all. Certain other perks as well.” 

Her smirk doesn’t belie the tiny bit of trepidation Thor sees in her eyes, and he can’t let that stand. He lifts his hand to her cheek and says as earnestly as he can manage, “Loki, I love you as you are, in all the ways you are.”

“Love already?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Is one tumble all it takes with you, then?”

Thor rolls his eyes and gives a lock of her hair a tug of annoyance. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what the word meant,” he says. “I suppose we’ve just, ah, modified the nature of it a bit now.”

“More than a bit, I’d say,” she says, smirk returning in full force, and looking much better to Thor’s eye in its careless confidence.

He hasn’t forgotten his unease about how they’ll manage to make this work, _if_ they can manage to make it work… but Loki is still in his bed after all, and they’ve only just begun… perhaps he’ll save his worries for later and simply enjoy himself now.

“What’s more,” he continues, letting a grin settle in on his lips, “is that I love your hair as well. Whether it be on your head—” he tousles a handful and takes an elbow to the ribs for it, “—on your chest—” Loki delivers a crippling pinch to the sensitive skin at the back of his upper arm when he leans down and bites gently at the underside of her breast, “—or, ah, between your—” but his hand is slapped away with prejudice when he reaches lower, and Loki finally shoves him off. 

“Oh, is that the measure of it?” she huffs, but the crinkles at the corners of her eyes hint that she’s holding back her mirth. “Perhaps you’ll like this even more.”

Thor ducks the sudden sweep of a paw directed at his head (and the dangerously sharp claws attached to it), but he can’t avoid the broad tongue that swipes over his mouth and nose, warm and wet. He snorts, scrubbing at his face, and falls back to the pillows, laughing as the enormous wolf snuffles in his ear and bites at his hair with alarmingly large teeth. Thor sinks his hands into Loki’s coat, purely self-indulgent, and wonders at its softness as he scratches at Loki’s chest and stomach—and then snorts again when he sees the bushy tail wagging further down the bed, though he’s sure Loki will deny that later. 

“I confess,” Thor finally manages to say, “this could, in fact, be too hairy for my tastes. But I would gladly give you all the belly rubs you like. Just mind your fangs so close to my face, I beg.”

In an instant, his brother has transformed back into his usual shape, giving one last nip at Thor’s ear (with teeth that are much less sharp, thankfully), and the two of them collapse in a heap, Thor still chuckling. 

“I love you, too, oaf,” Loki sighs. 

Enjoying themselves doesn’t seem like it will be too difficult after all, he thinks. And perhaps they’ll even have centuries of this before they need worry about what will come next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like. That was 80% porn. It's cool. I'm cool with it. You guys cool with it?
> 
> Next time: Breakfast at Frigga's, plus baths and hearths and fur rugs... 
> 
> This fic is complete, so come whisper to me on [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/) and tell me what to write next. I haven't a clue.


	5. Chapter 4

Sooner than Thor would have liked, Loki had hauled himself out of bed (giving a tremendous stretch, which Thor admired no small amount), and suggested Thor do the same, since they have both been invited to breakfast with their mother this morning. 

Thor ignores the unpleasant jolt in his gut when he thinks of facing Frigga after last night. He’s never been much good at hiding his feelings, but he supposes he’ll have to start sometime if this is to continue. 

And he very much wants it to continue. 

Frigga waits in her favorite gardens, where the morning air is still cool beneath the ornamental trees. She keeps an elegant table, regardless of the setting, but never neglects her guests’ tastes, and Thor is pleased to see a flagon of ale for him alongside her preferred tea setting. She greets them both with a kiss on the cheek, and soon they’re comfortably seated, her soothing presence and gift for conversation leaving Thor feeling, to his relief, quite at ease. 

“Imagine my surprise, Loki,” Frigga says as she pours herself a cup of tea, “when I heard that you’d taken an interest in swordplay as of late. How are you finding it?” 

Across the table, Loki has chosen a ripe peach from a basket of fruit, and Thor watches as he carves it into neat wedges with a summoned dagger. His long fingers are deft and nimble as he removes the pit, and if Thor doesn’t think about what else they handled so skillfully just the evening before, or perhaps where they may find their way next, he’s more than capable of presenting a casual, unaffected demeanor. Surely keeping this secret won’t be so terribly difficult.

(Where might they find their way next, though…?)

“Quite diverting,” Loki says, cutting an inscrutable look at Thor. “Though I believe I’ve nearly had my fill. I haven’t mastered the skill just yet, but I rather think I’ve gotten what I was after now.”

Thor clears his throat, shifts in his seat, and turns his attention to his mother when she asks after his friends, wondering what Lady Sif has been up to lately. 

His reply is slightly delayed, however, because Loki has lifted one of his slices of peach to his mouth, eyes heavy-lidded, and he bites into it with obvious pleasure, a drop of juice sliding down his chin. 

“She, ah… she’s been seeing to the outer wall of the city, I believe,” he manages to say after tearing his eyes away from his brother. “Apparently there’s some damage in the northern reaches, something about a troll causing a ruckus. I offered my assistance, but I hear that she sent it fleeing back to the mountains with hardly a fight.”

“A formidable woman, to be sure,” Frigga says. “I’ve always admired her. I just spoke with her last week, right after you’d left, Loki.”

Somehow Loki’s chin is clean by the time she shifts her attention to him, a teacup in his hands and looking as proper as he’s ever been. “Yes, I saw her in the corridor,” he says. “She’s still eager for that rematch, after all.”

“Your brother had come to ask for my advice on a rather complicated illusion,” their mother tells Thor as an aside, and he notes with some interest that Loki’s ears have suddenly gone a lovely shade of pink. “He wouldn’t tell me even the slightest detail of what he had planned, so I hope you weren’t the unwitting victim of some scheme.”

She gives Loki a pointed look, but he just smirks and sets down his teacup. 

“As a matter of fact, he was.”

Thor is confused. A recent illusion… had he not even noticed? 

“Loki!” Frigga scolds, then adds with a rather mischievous grin of her own, “How did it go then?”

“Oh, perfectly,” Loki replies, glancing over at Thor. “Don’t you think so, brother? I thought it was awfully convincing. You had a rather strong reaction, as I recall, but we made up soon after, didn’t we?”

Is Loki just pulling this from thin air? His only stunt worthy of what Thor would call a strong reaction in the last week had been that little display in the barracks washroom, but that had been real, and Thor is still contemplating calling that man out once he works out who he is. Surely there aren’t many of the palace guard that tall and that broad who resemble Thor himself so closely—

When Thor recalls the shimmer and blur right before he’d fled (he’d attributed it to the shock), realization clicks into place, and he narrows his eyes at his brother over the table. 

Loki smiles, the very picture of innocence.

Frigga takes no notice of the silent conversation going on between her sons and says, “You seem to be in excellent spirits, both of you, so I’ll trust there was no lasting harm.” 

“None, Mother,” Loki says. “There may have been a… slight physical altercation as a result, but what’s a little roughhousing between brothers?”

The coughing fit that suddenly seizes Thor does get Frigga’s attention, and she fusses over him while Loki goes back to his thrice-accursed peach, the wretch. 

\----

Because Loki is mischief incarnate and seems to possess no shame whatsoever, Thor frequently finds himself choking, spluttering, turning various shades of red, and occasionally having to remove himself entirely from whatever situation they may be in as summer ends and the harvest festival comes and goes. It’s nearly winternights before Thor learns (for the most part) to ignore his brazen antics in public and simply exact payment for his discomfort once they’re in private. 

(Loki had fulfilled quite a few of those initial promises though, including the time she had indeed begged _so_ prettily while Thor spent the majority of an evening with his face comfortably buried between her thighs—though the days of complaining about the way Thor’s beard had chafed some delicate skin afterwards were less pleasant.)

Despite the fact that Loki no longer spends half his time flaunting himself at the training yards (clearly he’d been serious when he said he’d gotten what he was after), he still often tags along with Thor and his companions to taverns and on the occasional jaunt away from Asgard. He and Fandral are apparently quite good friends these days, though their incessant flirting has never stopped, often leaving everyone else at the table groaning and threatening to banish them entirely. (Loki had insisted that’s all it ever was—friendly banter—though Thor has continued to keep an eye on his oh-so dashing friend, just in case.) Thor’s tongue is often worse for wear after these nights, since he spends most of them biting it, but he manages not to mind so terribly when his brother slips through the bathing chamber and into his bedroom in the wee hours of the morning to make it up to him.

Fandral excepted, most of the court and palace guard and nobility have gone back to treating Loki much as they had before: not over-fond, perhaps, but Thor scarcely hears any unpalatable whispers about him, and those that he does hear are really just more about his seidr-wielding. (Thor notes that no one questions the Allfather’s use of magic, but then again, no one really questions Odin, period, except for Thor when he’s in an insubordinate mood.) Since they don’t seem to bother Loki much, Thor merely clears his throat or glares at the offending parties, which usually puts a stop to it, and imagines instead how people will look upon his brother differently once their father steps down. 

And lately, Odin has been speaking more and more of the matter of succession… Thor doesn’t panic as he might have when this thing between them had been brand new, for after all, the new king surely wouldn’t be expected to marry straight away… and if Thor has been allowing himself to imagine what it would be like to be chosen, how he would do things as king, how he would bear the honor and the glory, that’s not so absurd, is it? Of course, he would name Loki his adviser (Odin had never chosen one, but Thor would be mad to waste such a resource as his brother’s mind—and he wouldn’t refuse sharing some of the burden of the throne, at least), and certainly they would need to spend quite a lot of time in private counsel with one another… And in time, who knows what other possibilities may open to them? Ruling the Nine Realms will surely present plenty of opportunities.

\----

For now, however, nothing is certain, perhaps aside from the snow that threatens to fall any moment. It’s certainly cold enough, and Thor knows better than anyone what the low clouds above the city are brewing. He’s just returned from Vanaheim, having escorted the Lady Freyja back home from a visit, and the flight back to the palace from the Bifrost has left him chilled to the bone by the time he lands on the balcony outside his rooms. 

Before he’d left, the chambermaid had laid out piles of furs on his and Loki’s beds, before every hearth, and scattered over the bathing chamber floor, and the whole time he’s been away, he’s thought of nothing so much as laying Loki out on the thick rug before the fire in his bedroom. At the moment, he thinks he’ll settle for a hot bath, and then he’ll worry about tracking his brother down. 

His cape, boots, and breastplate are the first to go once he’s in out of the cold, and he’s down to his breeches and bare chest by the time he pulls open the door to the bath, sighing at the billow of steam that pours out.

… And he really should know by now that Loki has a knack for exceeding his expectations. 

“Oh, you’re back,” Loki says from the pool, scrubbing his hair into a lather. “I thought you’d be gone at least another night.” 

This sight will never grow dull, Thor thinks to himself, taking in the way the firelight plays over his brother’s skin. 

“Don’t sound so disappointed, brother,” he says with a grin, and he takes a certain satisfaction in the way Loki watches him undo his laces and strip out of his breeches. 

Loki snorts and briefly ducks under the water. “I can’t help it,” he says when he surfaces again, smoothing his hair back from his face. “Here I was hoping to bathe in peace for once.”

The water is a blissful, hot embrace as Thor skips the steps entirely and slips in over the edge of the pool, but the way Loki is immediately pressed against him is infinitely better. 

“Is that so?”

“No,” Loki says, matter-of-fact, and wraps his arms around Thor’s waist. “It was definitely a lie.”

The smile is promptly kissed off of Thor’s face, and for several long minutes, he simply enjoys the unhurried brush of lips and tongues. The hard press of his brother’s length against his beneath the water is increasingly distracting, however, especially when Loki settles into a slow rhythm and shifts his attentions to the side of Thor’s throat, sucking long and hard at the place where his shoulder and neck meet. After a moment, Thor grasps the nape of Loki’s neck and regretfully pulls him away. 

“Easy, brother” he mutters into Loki’s wet hair. “You’ll leave a mark if you aren’t careful.”

“Hm, yes, I know,” Loki says, pressing a thumb into the now-sensitive skin. “Too late, by the way.” Thor pushes him back at arm’s length to frown at him in frustration, but Loki only rolls his eyes and says, “Please, your collar will cover it. And if not, it’s winter. Wear a scarf.”

Loki doesn’t look the least bit contrite—in fact, he only seems very pleased with himself, even after Thor manhandles him backward into the side of the bath, so Thor decides to even things up a bit. 

As immensely satisfying as Loki’s yelp is as Thor bites hard into the delicate skin just below his jaw, he much prefers the choked _Thor!_ he lets out as Thor wraps a firm hand around his cock. He keeps his strokes just this side of rough, as he knows Loki likes it, and Loki keeps up a steady stream of gasps and groans as Thor worries the soft skin of his throat with his teeth and tongue. 

The bruise is already forming when Thor pulls back to check his work, dark red with deep marks from his teeth surrounding it, and satisfied, he ducks his head to the other side of Loki’s throat to start on a second. (He’s very much looking forward to hearing his brother try to explain these away.) Loki is swearing now, though it’s mostly unintelligible moans with the occasional _fuck_ and _Thor_ and _brother_ thrown in, and Thor can feel the vibrations of his voice through the skin as he moves to a fresh patch under his chin and bites down again, even harder. 

But this time Loki _shouts_ , and for half a moment, Thor’s afraid he’s been rougher than he should have, until it turns into an inarticulate sob. He belatedly realizes that Loki is coming, his cock pulsing in Thor’s grasp beneath the water, and he quickly retightens his grip and strokes him through it. 

(He does make a mental note of this reaction, and files it away for further consideration and future experimentation.)

Loki pants through the aftershocks, leaning into Thor’s chest, and once his breath has mostly evened, Thor presses a kiss to his temple and says with a laugh, “How I missed your eloquent tongue, brother.”

The sharp nip at his collarbone is all the answer he receives, until a hand finds its way to his (sadly) neglected erection, and Loki looks up at him with a smirk and says, “Well, perhaps I should show you how much it missed you as well.”

Thor gives an excellent demonstration of his own eloquence at this, in that he can only manage a _hnngh_ of assent.

“On the ledge, if you please.”

Their places are swapped, and Thor hauls himself up out of the bath and settles on the stone floor, dripping water everywhere. It’s plenty warm with the fire crackling in the hearth at his back, but he shivers anyway in anticipation as Loki leans over between his knees and slides his hands up the wet skin of his thighs. 

The first broad lick from root to tip is a revelation, like every other time his brother has gotten that silver tongue on him. Thor feels positively lightheaded at the sight of him, lips bitten red, purpling marks against his pale throat, the flat of his tongue sliding up the length of Thor’s cock in a slow glide. His long fingers wrap around the shaft, thumb sweeping over the tip before he leans in to chase it with his mouth, and Thor’s jaw drops as Loki closes his lips around the head and sucks. 

Loki’s hair is damp under his hands before he realizes that he’s moved them, but his brother just hums around his cock in approval and draws a low groan from Thor in the process. From there, it’s easy to let his chin fall to his chest and watch in awe as Loki sinks down, tongue a steady pressure the whole way, his cheeks hollowing while his hand strokes up to meet his lips—and then it’s a slow slide in reverse, and his tongue presses into the slit, wrist twisting before he starts back down again, over and over and over, his pace steadily increasing. 

Thor’s panting through his open mouth already, but he finds himself gasping for air as Loki’s other hand slips over his balls, thumb pressing over the seam between them briefly before a knuckle digs into the space behind them. The sudden jolt of added pleasure catches him off guard and has him pulling at Loki’s hair, and another hum from his brother nearly ends him then and there, but then Loki’s easing off, his tongue soft and his grip firm around the base of his length. 

Thor can’t help the pathetic whine that escapes him.

“I don’t think I’ve quite finished with you,” Loki says, nosing at the thatch of dark blond hair surrounding his cock. The pad of a finger replaces his knuckle, light and teasing, and Loki drags his lips up his length, looking up and catching his eyes as he slides his finger further back just _there_ and pauses, waiting. 

“Oh,” is all Thor can say. 

Loki rolls his eyes, but presses more insistently, and Thor quickly realizes that he’s asking for permission. They’ve not done this often—Thor hasn’t, at least, and never any further than just one of Loki’s slim, talented fingers at a time—but he’s more than willing now, so he leans back onto the floor, feeling cool stone under his back and a fire-warmed pelt beneath his shoulders, and spreads his legs wider to accommodate his brother. 

The way that Loki groans at this little display is nearly as good as the firm stroke of his hand, and straight away, the pressure against his hole is back, Loki’s finger magically slicked and pushing in. Thor bites his lip and tries to breathe deeply, but Loki’s mouthing at the sensitive skin of his sack and driving him mad in the process, and the slow, steady stretch as he’s carefully worked open is already feeling more pleasurable than foreign. 

“Brother, please,” he begs, for what he doesn’t know, but Loki provides a more than sufficient answer for him when he slips his finger out, only to replace it with two. The burn is minimal, but the feeling of fullness as Loki’s fingers move inside him is overwhelming, and soon enough, Loki glances over that spot that has Thor seeing stars. His hands scrabble over the smooth stone beneath his lower half, groping for something to hold onto as he curls his toes in the water, itching to wrap his legs around Loki’s back but not wanting to crush him against the side of the bath. He tilts his head back and stares upside down at the hearth behind him and the shaggy pelts in front of it, trying to focus on something—anything else, but then he’s groaning aloud as he remembers how badly he’s been wanting to see Loki sprawled over the furs in front of the fire and writhing on his cock. 

When Loki presses in with three fingers and angles them for maximum impact, Thor changes his mind about what he wants. 

“Loki,” he gasps, “Loki, I need you.”

Loki hums over his skin absently, saying, “You have me,” as he moves to lap up the trail of pre-spend that’s dribbled down Thor’s length. Thor is distracted only a moment by this, and he summons all his willpower in order to push Loki’s head back gently (the way his tongue still reaches out for him is the most devastating thing Thor’s ever seen) and look him in the face. 

Because Loki is Loki, he frowns back and gives one last firm press against Thor’s prostate as punishment for this offense. 

“Brother,” Thor tries again (as soon as he can speak), “I need you to fuck me.”

Loki stares at him—but only for a moment, and then he’s easing his hand free and climbing out of the bath to crawl over Thor and crush their mouths together. “Bed,” he mutters between kisses, but Thor shakes his head. 

“Mmmn, there’s a—a perfectly good patch of floor— _hm_ —right here,” he says, pulling Loki down between his legs and holding on tightly. Loki’s hard and wet against him, already fully aroused again, and Thor hitches his hips up into his encouragingly.

“You idiot,” Loki grouses, but doesn’t stop kissing him or rutting down into the crease of his thigh. “At least get on the rug properly.”

An acceptable compromise, even if it means having to let go of his brother for a moment. Thor doesn’t care how undignified he may look as he scoots backward onto the furs, because Loki is following, eyes dark and intent. When Thor drags him down to kiss him again, he only bites at Thor’s bottom lip instead. 

“Turn over,” he says, voice low, and Thor doesn’t think it’s a suggestion.

He’s settling on his front in a flash, the soft fur under him tickling and his heart pounding, and he’s hardly all the way back down before Loki is there, spreading his thighs wide and pressing his fingers back in, twisting and stretching him with new purpose. His other hand smooths up Thor’s spine, followed closely by his tongue, and as Loki leans into him, mouthing at his shoulder blades, Thor feels his brother’s hard length against his ass, and his heart leaps into his throat. 

He must jerk at the contact, because Loki shushes him before brushing his hair aside and leaving a soft, quick kiss at the nape of his neck. “Are you ready?” he asks quietly, and Thor can only take a deep breath and nod.

Loki’s hand slips away, and a moment later, the head of his cock is there, slippery and warm, and as Loki pushes in, Thor lets his mouth fall open, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead to the rug. He’s trying to relax, remembering how easily his brother’s fingers had spread him open only a moment ago, but this is different and—and _more_ , and he’s desperate to get past the burn and the stretch and feel what Loki does when he’s the one shouting himself hoarse as Thor moves in him. For a long, terrifying moment, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do this, but then the worst is suddenly past, and Loki is sinking in deep with a strangled sound in his throat. 

They’re still a moment, Thor trying to come to terms with the feeling of fullness, and Loki breathing hard into the back of his neck. Curious, and remembering how Loki had done so their first time, Thor gives an experimental squeeze—and winces less from the unpleasant twinge and more at the vicious way Loki bites him for it. “Sorry, sorry,” he mutters into the floor, and the press of lips over his new bruise tells him he’s forgiven.

The first few tiny hitches of Loki’s hips against him, more nudges than anything really, aren’t so bad, and once his brother’s cock begins to slide out and ease back in more freely, Thor finally relaxes into the floor and just lets himself feel. He’s not sure when exactly it evolved from slightly strange to distinctly pleasant, but he’s starting to wonder why the Hel it took so long for them to try this—and then Loki’s pressing in _just_ right, and Thor lets out a surprised _ah!_ and tries to cant back into him for more. 

Loki’s hands are gripping his hips in an instant, pulling him up to his knees, and Thor hardly has any time to adjust before the new angle has him gasping into the rug as Loki drives into him. His brother has been uncharacteristically silent so far, but after Thor gets his bearings, braces himself on his forearms, and starts pushing back to meet each thrust, Loki finally speaks up, voice deep and quiet in his ear.

“Look at you,” he says, and goosebumps spread over Thor’s skin. “The mighty Thor… You _love_ this, don’t you?”

He’s correct, as he so often is. Thor doesn’t tell him so, because obviously his brother already knows he’s right, and he isn’t sure that he can speak in complete sentences at the moment anyway. The way he cries out as Loki’s hand slips around and takes hold of his weeping cock likely gives him away though.

“Are you close, brother?” Loki asks, still soft and low, and if Thor hadn’t been before, he certainly is now, what with Loki’s hand moving in time with his thrusts, each snap of his hips pushing him toward the edge.

“Please,” is all Thor can manage to say, and even that is shaky. But Loki only swears to himself and continues relentlessly, until the sudden build and crest of Thor’s climax takes them by surprise, drawing a long, broken moan from Thor. Loki curses again, sharp and loud, but he doesn’t let up even as Thor sinks into the rug and tries to control his breathing. 

Loki has an iron grip on his hips now, and Thor huffs out a pathetic little _unh-unh-unh_ with each thrust, every brush of Loki’s cock over his prostate hitting like another aftershock. As soon as he’s able, he blindly reaches back with one hand and gets ahold of Loki’s thigh, clutching and pulling at him, half in encouragement and half out of a desperate need to ground himself. It doesn’t take long before Loki gives a shout and buries himself deep, and Thor digs his fingers into the skin beneath his hand as he feels his brother filling him.

Eventually, they manage to carefully rearrange themselves and collapse on the furs. Loki kisses him long and deep, and with a giddy rush, Thor thinks that he has everything he’s ever wanted. Even the bizarre feeling of his brother’s spend trickling out of him and over the crease of his ass isn’t unpleasant when everything else in the world is perfect. 

It takes a good long while, but they do make it out of the floor (Thor wincing as Loki hauls him up to his feet) and into bed, huddling close under several furs to keep out the cold. Before Thor falls asleep, he notices that it’s finally started snowing. 

 

 

\----

 

 

Several decades later, after countless long nights and sweet mornings, arguments without number, battles and quests and royal errands, the Allfather formally summons his sons to the throne room, and Thor finally learns that he’d been wrong all this time. He does not, in fact, have everything he ever wanted. 

But he will, just as soon as the necessary arrangements can be made for his coronation. 

He’s not unaware that this gain is also his brother’s loss, but the triumph and elation he feels are so great that he can only thank his father with appropriately courteous words and turn immediately to Loki as soon as it’s acceptable. 

His brother’s expression shows no hint of disappointment, no envy, not even concern for what this could mean for the _other_ aspect of their relationship. Loki only smiles, and though it’s mild, and carefully controlled due to the stately circumstances, it’s warm and hopeful, and Thor desperately wants to rush him back to their rooms and share this in private. There are more niceties to be observed and ceremonial declarations to be made, however, and then, once they’re excused, Lady Sif, Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg await outside, having already heard the news and insisting upon taking the king-to-be out for a night of raucous revelry.

Seeing the enthusiastic reflection of his joy in his friends’ faces is like finding out all over again, and he accepts the invitation at once, grinning broadly and reaching out to wrap his arm around Loki’s neck and drag him along. But Loki catches his hand first and steps back, and Thor stares at him, feeling the smile slip from his face. 

“You go on ahead,” Loki says. There’s clearly more that he wants to say, but he just squeezes Thor’s hand reassuringly, and adds, “I’ll catch up shortly.”

Thor squeezes back, and then Loki is disappearing around the corner.

But as he said, he’ll be along soon enough, and Thor turns back to his friends and lets them carry him off to the nearest tavern, singing and shouting the whole way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Woops)
> 
> Thanks so much for sticking with me so far! I appreciate each and every hit, kudo, and comment SO much. We've got one more update left (and I promise it ends on a more positive note than that...), so I'll see you there!
> 
> Next time: The Epilogue, wherein Loki forgets how to knock. 
> 
> (PS I'm out of town until Sunday, so I may not get to replies until then, but the last update will be posted while I'm gone. Ok love you bye!)


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This epilogue takes place post-Ragnarok, and assumes that all the canon events of the MCU took place in the meantime. Maybe with a few more meaningful looks though. And Thanos can kiss my ass.
> 
> (Not literally. He’s not allowed near me or my sons ever again.)

The ship is fairly well appointed, and Thor thanks the Norns daily for that fact. It’s been months since what was left of Asgard piled aboard and made their escape, and so far, they haven’t lacked for anything crucial. Some families are having to share space, which has caused a few complaints, and it’s true that the meals, though sufficiently nutritious, are a bit bland and unvaried, but overall, things could be much worse. Their medical supplies are ample for now, and the food and fuel should last them until the next inhabited world where they can trade for more.

Thor’s quarters are not the largest on board, since he’d insisted the Hulk would need all the space he could get, but he has a separate bedroom and sitting room, just as he had back in the eastern wing of the palace, and he even has a private bathroom, unlike most. Though it doesn’t have a tub, it does have a very adequate shower (he appreciates the water pressure especially), and his furnishings aren’t entirely utilitarian. His bed, for one, is actually quite large and comfortable.

He had mentioned these things at supper this evening, trying for casual, but he may have stared a bit too intently at his brother while he was speaking, since the Valkyrie had paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and looked at him like he’d lost his mind. 

When Loki had raised an eyebrow and said, “Perhaps you should give me a tour later,” Valkyrie made a face, stood up, and muttered something like, _not drunk enough for this shit_ , as she stomped away. Thor hadn’t really cared about that, though, since he’d been too busy trying to keep from pumping his fist victoriously. No one else had said anything, or even seemed to notice, aside from Korg, who had congratulated Thor on his accommodations, and suggested a regular rotation of quarters to keep things fair (saying that if he was going to insist on perpetuating the monarchy, he could make some concessions). 

He’s been cautiously dancing around his brother since that first night (when Loki had accepted the brief hug and excused himself immediately afterwards), initiating a little contact here and there, asking for Loki’s input on every major decision, complimenting everything he does to help on board (of which there is quite a bit, Thor notes with pride and relief)… And when that had gone well, Thor had taken it a step further. A few lingering touches and meaningful looks had been accepted, if not perhaps reciprocated, and when he’d taken to dropping less subtle hints that he might not be averse to picking up where they’d left off, Loki had acknowledged each with a small smirk but said nothing to indicate his feelings on the matter one way or the other.

Until tonight. 

Thor isn’t sure how the rest of the meal had gone, since he’d been rather preoccupied imagining how ‘later’ might go, but before long, everyone had parted ways, and Loki had given him a promise-laden look before disappearing down the hall. 

Now, after about an hour of anxiously staring at his door had become too much to bear, Thor’s opted for a shower, just to keep himself busy. He hadn’t exaggerated about the water pressure, and for a while, he simply stands beneath the spray, letting go of some of the tension he’s been carrying in his shoulders, literally and figuratively. 

He’s had to adjust to many things in a very short amount of time… The loss of his father and his home and his friends had been difficult enough, but his new perspective on Asgard’s role in the cosmos has been incredibly hard to come to terms with. Knowing what he does about his family’s history, he’s almost glad for the fresh start and its exceedingly humble nature. It hasn’t erased all that transpired over the millennia, but maybe the next generation of Asgardians can be brought up without the old pride and entitlement he’s come to recognize in himself. As king, Thor can only hope that he’ll be able to influence their overall point of view in a positive direction.

For now, though, all is as well as it can be, and Thor does have high hopes for the future. 

Especially when he considers the look Loki had given him after dinner. 

The original purpose of this shower had been distraction, but it’s all too easy to let his thoughts drift back to his brother, and now that they’ve made so much progress away from who they used to be, it’s even easier to jump straight to imagining what this last sort of reunion will entail. It’s only been a few years, but it’s felt like centuries… will they be reserved and cautious with one another, or will the years apart have them rushing and eager to make up for the lost time? Thor briefly thinks of the first time they’d acted on their desires, a lifetime ago, pressed up against a door and desperate, and can’t help but reach down and run a soapy hand over his rapidly filling cock. 

“Need a hand, brother?” Loki suddenly says out of nowhere, and Thor slips and nearly bangs his head on the glass wall of the shower in his surprise. He hadn’t heard the door, and he certainly hadn’t left it unlocked, but here his brother is, the corner of his mouth upturned and giving Thor a thorough once-over. “Finish up here,” he says, not waiting for Thor to reply. “I’ll wait in your ‘large and comfortable’ bed.”

He’s reaching for the clasp of his tunic as he steps out of the bathroom, and once the door slides shut behind him, Thor scrubs furiously at his hair, his underarms, and his groin (carefully there), and gives the crease of his ass a cursory pass after some consideration, just in case. It’s been a long while, but he’ll take whatever Loki wants to give him and thank him soundly for it afterwards. He rinses and dries off as quickly as possible, but then he hesitates at the door, wondering if he should wrap the towel around his waist or just walk out as-is… But then Loki had just seen him naked and palming himself, so really, it’s a bit late for modesty. He does fit his eyepatch into place though, since the empty socket hadn’t healed in the most attractive manner, and then he takes a calming breath and opens the door. 

Loki is indeed waiting in his bed, sprawled on his side facing the bathroom door, bare but for the sheet artfully draped over his lap, and Thor suddenly doesn’t know what to do with himself. His brother is a bit less lean, but just as lovely as he’s always been, and aside from the broadness of his shoulders and the way his longer hair falls over them, nothing else would appear to have changed since the last time they’d been together. 

(Thor remembers that last occasion vividly—the night before the first failed coronation, on his knees, Loki going on at length about the future king so willingly sucking his little brother’s cock, until Thor had redoubled his efforts and shut him up rather effectively. In hindsight, he thinks that it should have been a very clear indication of the bitter turn their relationship had taken, and regrets his blindness for the thousandth time.)

When Loki sits up and beckons him over, Thor realizes that he’s just been standing there staring. But then the edge of the bed is bumping against his knees, and Loki’s reaching up for him—and then they’re kissing while Loki makes room between his legs and pulls them both down to the mattress. 

Thor knew that he’d missed this, but he hasn’t understood just how much until now. He touches everything he can get his hands on, Loki’s face and his hair and his neck… he smooths his hands down his brother’s arms and back up, over his chest and around his back, and when Loki wraps his legs around Thor’s waist, he follows his thighs as well, fingers digging in as the sheet slips away and their arousals press together. Loki sighs into his mouth, but then he noticeably stiffens when he reaches up but can’t seem to get a good grip in Thor’s hair. 

“Alright, I just can’t approve of this,” he mutters, and Thor huffs out a laugh, leaning back to take a long look at his face. His brother’s cheeks are flushed and eyes bright, even though they’re narrowed in annoyance. “You do wear it very well, I’ll admit that,” he continues, “but this is going to be a problem for me.”

“A frequent problem?” Thor asks, hopeful, and Loki rolls his eyes and drags him back down—only to flip them over in a flash and make himself comfortable astride Thor’s hips. 

“At least until it grows back,” he says. 

Thor grins and surges up off the bed to kiss him again, briefly, before the call of his pale throat and chest are too great to ignore. His brother’s skin is warm and soft, and he’s already letting out the most incredible little whines and groans, the sound of it familiar and beloved. When Thor bends down to get his mouth on a nipple, his teeth grazing, Loki finally manages to grab a handful of hair where it’s longer at the top of Thor’s head and hold him there, the pull against his scalp sharp and going straight to his groin. 

While his teeth and tongue are occupied, Thor continues his explorations, hands drifting down Loki’s ribs and over the small of his back before moving to his backside. Loki is grinding down against him now, and Thor groans at the contact before he moves to the other side of Loki’s chest and slips a finger into the cleft of his ass—but then he’s suddenly shoved back to the sheets before he can get any further. 

“That’s quite enough of that,” Loki pants, bracing himself with his hands on Thor’s chest. Thor’s confusion is threatening an abrupt turn toward dismay, but Loki just waves a hand in an old, familiar gesture, raises his hips, and positions himself over Thor’s cock.

Thoroughly aroused by this development, but also a bit concerned, Thor starts, “Shouldn’t we…” holding up a few fingers suggestively, but he’s quickly silenced when Loki begins to sink down onto him, hot and slick and tight as Hel, but not so tight as to be worrisome. 

“Handled,” Loki gasps, and Thor tries not to think of where he may have learned this new trick. It’s quite easy to ignore, however, with the way his brother is settling onto his cock, the tiny little adjustments of his hips maddening as he eases all the way down. 

Still impatient after all this time, Loki doesn’t wait long before he starts to move, rising and falling slowly at first, but then faster, and Thor holds onto his thighs, lifting his hips as Loki drops his own, breathing hard through his open mouth. A lack of recent practice hasn’t impacted their coordination, but it has definitely taken a toll on Thor’s staying power… And since Loki has leaned back and braced his hands on Thor’s thighs, looking wanton and gorgeous and like he’ll be content to drag this out for _years_ , Thor can only close his eye and try to hold on. 

Of course, Loki chooses this moment to open his mouth. “Thor,” he starts, already broken-sounding, “ _fuck_ , how I’ve missed this, oh… missed _you_ , brother…”

Thor grits his teeth and tightens his grip on Loki’s legs. He’s not sure he’ll survive much more of this, so he pulls his feet up flat on the bed, knees wide, and takes over, angling his thrusts to steadily whittle down his brother’s control. Loki rocks down into him, gasping _Thor_ and _brother_ over and over, and when Thor gets a hand on Loki’s cock, it doesn’t take long before he’s coming with a ragged sob. The quarters on both levels above and below Thor’s are occupied, but he doesn’t even spare a thought for how soundproof the walls may or may not be as he spills deep in his brother and shouts his name, unable to hold it back. 

Loki rides out the last of the aftershocks, chin dropped to his chest and face hidden behind a curtain of dark hair, so when he collapses forward, Thor immediately reaches up to rake it out of the way, holding onto a handful of curls at the back of his head and dragging him down into a clumsy, exhausted kiss. 

They stay there a good long while, catching their breaths with their foreheads pressed together and mouths meeting occasionally. Thor starts to speak a few times, but thinks better of it and stays silent instead. He’s not sure what he would say, first of all, but he knows that whatever whispered platitudes or confessions of love that he might come up with wouldn’t begin to scratch the surface of what he’s truly feeling. Hopefully it’s obvious in the reverent way he holds his brother’s face, the way he savors the taste of his lips against his own, the way he’s trying to pour all of this rapidly overwhelming emotion into a look that Loki could see if he’d open his eyes. This isn’t the first time that Thor has found himself with Loki in his arms, wishing it could last forever, and he sincerely hopes it isn’t the last. 

Eventually (regretfully), Loki heaves out a sigh, gingerly slips free, and settles himself at the edge of the bed, facing the window and the rather spectacular view of the stars beyond it, and it’s then that Thor finds his voice. 

“Will you stay?” he asks, sounding anxious to his own ears, and traces his fingers down the curve of Loki’s spine.

After a tense pause, Loki says, “I really shouldn’t be seen leaving your rooms first thing in the morning,” and Thor tries not to be too disappointed. He’s right, of course. They’re much more visible now that all of Asgard is in close quarters, and Thor’s already been less discreet than he should have. Besides, their grasp on this new stage in their lives is tenuous at best, and perhaps it’s too soon to expect so much. 

But before he can say anything, Loki’s switching out the lights, and he turns and eases in against Thor’s side, vanishing the mess of their spend with a complicated gesture and pulling the coverlet up over them both. 

“I can stay for a bit, though,” he murmurs, his fingers light and gentle over Thor’s cheek, and Thor has to bite his lip to keep from saying something too sentimental and embarrassing himself. Loki carefully removes his eyepatch and sets it on the bedside table, and after a soft press of lips against the scar tissue underneath, he’s burrowing in against Thor’s shoulder and throwing an arm over his chest. “This bed is _awfully_ large and comfortable anyway,” Loki says, voice muffled. “It would be a shame to waste the opportunity. In fact, I may even need to test out your shower tomorrow evening. Preferably with you in it as well.”

Thor snorts, and hauls his brother in closer. “I’m sure that can be arranged,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! Thanks so much for sticking it out with me <3 
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/) if you're into that sort of thing.


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